The Stitchpunk of Notre Dame
by PotterPhantomKitten
Summary: Based off of "The Hunchback of Notre Dame". Raised and kept in a small room in Notre Dame, 6 is regarded as being a monster by his master, 1, and the entire city. But when a gypsy warrior named 7 arrives, 6 must find a way to free themselves from 1.
1. The Start of the Tale

**A/N: Hi-ya, everybody! Well, thanks to snowiweather's AWESOME rendition of some parts of "The Hunchback of Notre Dame" in the "If 9 Were a Musical" thread, I was inspired to write this - a 9 version of the classic Disney movie "The Hunchback of Notre Dame"! The movie has always been one of my favorite Disney movies, so I thought it would be a great idea to write something like this! If you've seen the movie, you'll most likely pick up on who everyone is pretty quickly! Anyway, enough chit-chat, let's begin the first chapter of "The Stitchpunk of Notre Dame"!**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 9 or The Hunchback or Notre Dame, though I wish I did. I do, however, own a plush toy of Quasimodo!**

**Dedication: This is dedicated to snowiweather, who helped give me the idea for this in the first place!**

----

It was early morning in the city of Paris, France, and the square was bustling with activity. Various stitchpunks were opening up their shops, gathering supplies, and stopping to chat with each other on their routes. And overseeing it all was the grand cathedral known as Notre Dame.

In the vicinity of the cathedral, a small puppet-theater stand was set up, manned by a one-opticed stitchpunk known as 5. He smiled contentedly as a group of younger stitchpunks gathered around him, listening to the bell tolls that sounded from the towering cathedral.

"Ah, listen," 5 sighed in regards to the bells, "they're beautiful, aren't they? So many different sounds and moods! Because you know," he added with a mischievous grin, "they don't ring all by themselves!"

"They don't?" a small "Puppet-5" on 5's right hand asked in a high-pitched voice.

"No, you silly boy!" 5 answered, smiling. He glanced up toward Note Dame. "Up there, high, high in the dark bell-tower, lives the mysterious bell-ringer. Who is this creature?"

"WHO?"

"What is he?"

"WHAT?"

"How did he come to be there?"

"HOW?"

"HUSH!" 5 said as he lightly smacked Puppet-5 on the head, earning several giggles from the younger stitchpunks. "5 will tell you. It is a tale - a tale of a man... and a monster!"

----

There was a light snowfall that dark night all those years ago, and a small group of stitchpunks were in a small boat, pulling up to the docks near Notre Dame. The woman held her baby wrapped in a small blanket. The baby was crying.

"Keep it quiet, will you?" said one of the stitchpunks

"We'll be spotted!" hissed another.

"Hush, little one!" the mother said, trying to get the baby to stop crying.

The boat soon reached the docks, and the group of stitchpunks gingerly stepped out, only to be stopped a soldier who held out his hand.

"Four guildings for safe passage into Paris!" he demanded.

Suddenly, he was cut short as an arrow zoomed by, piercing the stick he was carrying. He whirled around, as did the other stitchpunks, as four guards armed with arrows quickly surrounded them.

But the small group gasped with fear as they saw a stern figure approaching them on a sleek, mechanical horse.

"Judge 1!" one of the stitchpunks said in a frightened, choked whisper.

The stitchpunks, apart from the woman, were quickly captured by three of the guards and clapped in iron cuffs and led away.

"Take these gypsy vermin to the Palace of Justice!" 1 demanded to the guards as they left.

"You there," barked the guard who had stayed behind, attempting to seize the bundle from the female stitchpunk, "what are you hiding?!"

"Stolen goods, no doubt," 1 said his optics narrowing, "take them from her!"

So the frightened stitchpunk acted on impulse, and ran as fast as she could. Unfortunately, 1 was quickly following right behind her. She didn't dare look back, but the horse's hooves pounded the ground behind her.

Desperate, she finally managed to reach the church of Notre Dame, banging on the door frantically. "Sanctuary, please give us sanctuary!" she cried out in panic.

However, when she whirled around, it was too late. 1 reached her and managed to seize the bundle from her, kicking her as she tried to hold on to it. The blow connected with her head as she fell, her head hitting the steps of Notre Dame. She did not move again.

It was then that 1 heard crying from the bundle that he now held. "A baby?" he questioned, lifting a part of the cloth to see. Upon this, however, he gasped and quickly covered the baby up again. "A monster!" He looked frantically around - there had to be some way to get rid of it. Finally, 1's optics rested on a well, and rode over to it. He looked into the dark emptiness of the well, and lifted his arm to drop the baby into it.

"STOP!" a voice suddenly cried out, making 1 turn around. It was the Archdeacon, 2, who had spoken.

"This is an unholy demon," 1 said, unperturbed. "I'm sending it back where it belongs."

"You've spilled innocent blood on the steps of Notre Dame," 2 said sadly as he cradled the body of the fallen stitchpunk.

"I am guiltless," 1 replied, beginning to ride off, "she ran, I pursued."

"And you would add this child's blood to your guilt?" 2 questioned desperately.

"My conscience is clear, 2!" 1 demanded.

"You might say that, 1," 2 said with a hint of anger in his voice as he pointed at the various statues on the cathedral, "but you can't hide what you've done from the eyes of Notre Dame!"

As 1 looked around at all the statues, in seemed as if their optics were penetrating him. He realized 2 was right - he couldn't hide it. For once in his life, 1 felt a small twinge of fear for his soul. What he did in this life would have consequence, he knew. "What must I do?"

"Care for the child," 2 replied, turning to him, "and raise it as your own."

_"What?!"_ 1 exclaimed in disbelief, "I am to be saddled with this _misshapen_-" He paused before looking at 2. "Very well - but let him live with you in your church.

"Live here?" 2 asked. "Where?"

"Anywhere," 1 said simply, gazing up at the towers, "as long as he's kept locked away where no one else can see - the bell-tower, perhaps." He glanced at the bundle, then at the tower, then back to the bundle again. "And who knows, our Lord works in mysterious ways. Even this foul creature may one day prove to be of some sort of use to me."

2 gave 1 a concerned look before turning around to leave.

The moment that 2 was out of earshot, 1 turned his attention back to the infant stitchpunk, who was now sleeping. "I would of sent you back to the firey pit you came from," 1 said with a hint of disdain, "but it would seem that 2 has spared your life." A thought then occurred to 1 - the infant had no name.

"The devil's number is 666," 1 mused, staring at the sleeping bundle, "just because you are to be in my care does not change the fact that you are a monster." After another moment of thought, a sinister grin appeared on 1's face, and his optics narrowed at the infant stitchpunk.

"6," 1 whispered. "Your name shall be 6."

----

**Well, I hope you liked the first chapter! And just as a note, yes I will be including renditions of the songs from the movie in here, I just didn't for this chapter because I thought that not including it would make the chapter flow a little more smoothly. Hope you enjoyed, and stay tuned for the next chapter of "The Stitchpunk of Notre Dame"!**


	2. 6's Younger Years

**A/N: Whew, finally, after awhile, snowiweather and I are DONE with this chapter! This chapter actually takes place between the time when Frollo!1 reluctantly decides to raise Quasi!6, and when Quasi!6 grows up. Be prepared to laugh, squee at cuteness, and probably get really mad at Frollo!1 in the process! And warning: this chapter is LOOOONNNG! Anyway, I won't keep you waiting anymore, let's get Chapter 2 started! On with the fic!**

**-----**

Another morning dawned in the city of Paris. A fresh snow had fallen, leaving the streets oddly clean and white. The city slowly came to life, with laughing children running through the drifts while their parents went about their daily business. It was a perfectly ordinary and generally pleasant day.

However, one very tired, very disgruntled priest was not feeling any sort of cheer. He had been woken rather rudely in the middle of the night. Before properly awake and able to register what exactly was happening, a small bundle had been thrust into his arms. Four sharp words had managed to get through his muddled brain:

"_Take care of this."_

The priest, realizing with icy horror that Judge 1 had just spoken to him, looked down at the bundle.

If being spoken to by Judge 1 had been a shock, this took the oil.

_What kind of creature is it?!_ the priest had thought, staring down with thinly veiled disgust at the small, bundled up thing that lay sleeping in his arms. He had quickly found to Archdeacon 2, and been briefed on the situation.

"The child is a foundling," the Archdeacon had said, rubbing at his optics. "Our good judge 1 has seen fit to take the boy under his wing. He is to be kept here, in the Bell Tower. Please see to it that he is clothed and taken care of until the Judge returns."

"Does… it have a name?" asked the priest, already deciding that his morning was completely wasted.

The Archdeacon sighed sadly. "The boy is 6."

_A suitable name, _thought the priest as he proceeded up the creaking wooden stairs to the tallest Bell Tower, holding the sleeping baby as though it might explode.

He shivered as he stepped into the huge Tower, drawing his robes tighter around himself. Surely the Judge did not expect this… thing to survive up here. It was freezing, open to the elements, and incredibly dangerous for a fully-grown doll, let alone a helpless baby. Besides, how would the Church workers keep a constant eye on it?

The priest shook his head. What did it matter if the thing froze or plunged off a parapet? Let the little beast return to the pits of Hell, where it belonged.

"Farewell, little 6," he muttered, setting the bundle down in an alcove. "The good Lord permitting, I won't see you again." With that, he hurried down the stairs, hoping that he had not missed breakfast.

Five minutes passed. Ten. The bundle shifted, and the little creature inside it blinked its mismatched optics open. Freezing cold pierced into its striped skin, and the hard surface it lay upon was terribly uncomfortable. A little whimper built up in its throat, which turned into a full-blown wail within seconds.

And through that wailing, voices spoke.

"_What in the heck is that noise?!"_

"_Maybe it's a rat."_

"_A wailin' rat."_

"_It is possible! Remember that screaming bat we found in the belfry?"_

"_Shut your traps, you two! It isn't a rat and it isn't a bat, and if you think it is, I'd check for a couple of bats in your belfry."_

"_Then what is it?"_

A huge shadow slid onto the wall, and its caster soon followed. The creature was enormous by Stitchpunk standards, a good 11 inches tall and nearly as broad. This was no Stitchpunk however – its skin was made of rough stone, with large portions of its body filled in with what looked like cement (including half its face, one leg, and its entire back). Two small horns sprouted from its brow, and tiny wings flapped a little on its back. The numeral '8' was carved into its shoulder.

The Garpunk 8 slowly lumbered closer to the screaming bundle, peering curiously but cautiously at it. Two smaller shadows followed their large companion. Their casters were identical Twins, thin-limbed, wide of optic, and also bearing horns and wings. They wore stone cowls over their heads and numbers were likewise carved into their stone, though this time it was on opposite sides of their chests.

"Well, what is it?" asked 3 impatiently, wings fluttering in annoyance.

"Gimme a minute," growled 8, "and I'll FIND OUT."

He padded over to the bundle, and gently pushed aside the cloth that covered it.

"It's a baby!" cried 4, clapping his hands together and beaming.

"OH, that explains everything," said 3. "What's a baby."

"A newborn creature, an offspring of a male and a female. The Stitchpunks in particular seem to make an awful lot of them."

"Huh." 3 looked down at the scrunched up face, the flailing fists and wide, bawling mouth. "Kinda ugly, ain't it."

"3!" snapped 4. "It is a miracle of creation!"

"Yeah, well then the miracle of creation needs to get its act together cause DAMN-"

"You idiot," 8 snapped over his shoulder, "It isn't made of stone like us, it's all cloth and plush. Must be freezing up here…" Very awkwardly, he reached down and scooped the small creature up, blanket and all.

4 scurried over and peered into its face. "Poor thing," he said mournfully, "What is it even doing here? Where are its parental units?"

"I'm not sure." 8 said distractedly, trying to soothe the child's cries. "Shhh, it's alright, little one… we've got you now, it's alright…"

However, the baby was having none of that – it only wailed louder, making the three Garpunks wince as its scream broke the sound barrier.

"JEEZ!" yelled 3, clamping his hands over his hearing sensors, "At this rate it'll bring the whole cathedral on our heads!"

"It does have a rather impressive vocal capacity for something so small," 4 flinched as the wail rose another few octaves.

"8, can't ya do somethin'?!"

"I'm trying!" growled 8.

"Try harder!"

"Here's a thought! Why don't YOU hold the baby, and I'LL complain!"

"Now, now, let's remain calm-"

"_Calm?! _We're not made of friggin' stone, 4! …Oh wait-"

WHAM! 8's huge fist smashed down on 3's head with enough force to crush a Winged Beast. Fortunately for the Garpunk, all that happened to him was his face making a rather abrupt and personal meeting with the floor.

A little giggle made the two standing Garpunks look down at the baby.

Its face was smoothed out from its scrunched up screaming, large optics blinking and its mouth turned up in a big smile. It giggled again, tiny fists waving.

"Would you look at that," beamed 4. "Way to go, 3!"

"_Mmph." _

With as much dignity as possible, 3 pulled himself to his feet and brushed a bit of rock dust off his shoulders. He glared up at 8 as he gingerly felt his forehead for any cracks.

"You better be glad I don't break easy."

"Well, at least the baby stopped crying," 8 grinned down at the child. "It's kinda cute, in a plushy way. _Who's a wittle cutey…"_ He crooned, tickling the little doll under the chin with one stone finger.

The baby erupted into giggles, squirming a bit. One hand reached out from its blanket, and seized the giant's finger.

"My goodness-!" gasped 4, staring down at the baby's fingers. They were sharp, made of some sort of golden gleaming metal, and shaped in the likeness of pen-nibs. It was a rather stunning contrast, those dangerous fingers upon the hands of a baby.

"Whoa there!" 8 started in surprise, then smiled once more. "What funny little fingers you have." He shook his trapped finger a bit, making the fist bob up and down and producing even more giggles.

3 looked down at the baby, delicately poking the top of its yarn-covered head. "Huh. Guess it is pretty cute, when it isn't screamin'."

"Do you think it has a name, 8?" asked 4, shuffling in closer to the giant's left and peering over his arm.

"I think I heard that ol' priest guy say somethin' about… '6'," admitted 3.

4 smiled fondly down at the child, gently shaking its tiny fist and rolling the number over his stone tongue. "6. Siiii-iiiix. What a nice name."

"I think it suits him."

"Yeah, not too shabby." 3 gave a little shrug, "I mean, it could be better… y'know, something like 3, but hey. We can't all be perfect."

"Ha!" laughed 4. "If you're perfection, I am glad to be flawed."

"You two do know we're going to have to take care of him."

The Twins glanced at 8, who was letting the baby toothlessly chew on his finger.

"Whatcha mean?"

8 scowled. "You saw how that priest treated him! Who's to say any of the others will even bother to accept him as another doll?"

"Then we can do it! It'll be cake." 3 suddenly looked nervous. "Oh man," he fretted, "I dunno if I'm ready to be a dad! I'll have to get a job, maybe go steady with some girl…"

"But what about Archdeacon 2? He seems like a decent fellow," 4 interjected reasonably. They knew the Archdeacon well enough, having watched him and his daily activities for many years. They could tell that (unlike many of the other clergy members) 2 gladly did all he could for anyone in need of aid.

However, 8 was not entirely convinced. "Oh yes," he waved a hand dismissively, "Well we know he would… but he's the Archdeacon first and foremost. He can't spend all his time playing nursemaid. There are no others."

"No prob then, big guy!" 3 lightly thumped 8 on the arm. "We got it covered! How hard could takin' care of a baby be?"

A sudden creaking of the wooden stairs made the Garpunks look up.

Standing at the top of the staircase, his slanted eyes darting around, was Judge 1. He saw three Garpunk statues sitting in a small circle, his new charge in the largest ones lap, cooing and gurgling happily. 1's already twisted frown grew as he swept over, picking up the baby and cradling it in his arms with all the love of a man being forced to hold some dead animal.

"Well now, my little abomination," he muttered, striding away from the statues, "Let this be the beginning of my penance."

From their frozen positions, the three Garpunks glanced at one another.

…_Yeeeeeah._

-----

_3 years..._

Time passed, as it is want to do. And with that passage of time, things changed.

After it was established that the baby was not going to die (be it plunging off a parapet or succumbing to harsh weather), the various priests and church-workers put up with their new charge. They did no more than was asked of them, and spent as little time with him as possible. Judge 1 watched over the baby perhaps even more grudgingly, visiting as little as possible to ensure his penance was carried out. However, what little time Stitchpunks paid him, the stone Garpunks made up in full.

Under the tender care of the Garpunks, and the not-so-tender care of Judge 1 and numerous clergy members, 6 grew.

And so it came to be that one sunny day found the odd little family together, looking down at the city.

"Bet you can't hit that mime on the corner of 3rd."

"Nor would I try. That is quite a disgusting pastime, if you ask me."

"No one did." 3 grinned, leaning farther over the parapet and framing the unfortunate street-performer between his claws. "Bet_ I_ could make it."

"Really," 4 sniffed, displeased with his twins hobby. "You know, you are setting a horrible example for the boy."

"Oh, I don't think he minds," said 8, looking down at the little doll he held in his arms.

6 tilted his head back, blinking up at the stony face with a big smile. He had grown over the last three years, now coming to just below the Twins knees. Aside from growing larger, he had not changed much. His eyes were still the same mismatched size, his hair was still the messy tangle of yarn, and his fingers were still those dangerous little digits (if a little ink stained after he discovered a new hobby).

"Nah, he doesn't mind at all," said 3, looking over at their charge. "Do ya, buddy?"

6 said nothing, merely reached down towards the crowd, fingers flexing as though he wished to grab them. None of the Garpunks really minded his silence – he had yet to say a word, something they had heard the priests commenting on.

"See? Now, lemme get a good fix on that git…"

The child began to squirm in 8's grip, the universal signal that said, 'Please let me down right now before I start screaming.'

"Alright little one, hold on there- "Complying, 8 gently set the tiny doll on the balcony floor and watched him toddle away into the Tower. He glanced back at 3, who was hocking an impressive loogie, much to his twins disgust.

"Hey 3. Cut the funny business. It's your turn to watch junior."

3 pouted at the bigger Garpunk. "Oh c'mon 8," he whined. "I was just about to-"

"_Now,_ 3."

Flashing 8 a sorrowful set of puppy-optics, 3 slid down off the parapet and loped after the child.

He found 6 up in his corner of the Tower – draped with heavy red curtains, the walls were covered in numerous inky drawings, all created by the little doll. Even now, 6 sat on the floor, dipping his hand up to the wrist in black ink and sketching messily.

3 padded over and squatted down by 6, peering at this latest drawing. Most of the drawings involved the outside world, something the doll seemed to be fascinated with. It was probably one of the city-folk, or maybe a building, or-

A strange symbol stared up at him. It was made up of four circles, three of them in the outline of the first. More symbols were in the center of the smaller circles, while jagged lines tore through the larger circle. He'd never seen anything like it before.

"Whatcha got there, bud?" 3 asked absently, not really expecting an answer. But…

"Ss… s-s-s-source."

3 blinked. The voice was soft, hoarse, and it had come from the little dolls mouth.

"Kid," he said slowly, "Did you just say Source?"

"S-s-source," 6 repeated, nodding.

A huge grin split across 3's face. "You said Source! You spoke! Oh man- oh man, this is great! I mean- wow!"

6 blinked up at him in mild confusion. 3 ruffled his hair affectionately, still grinning.

"This is great, kid! HEY," he yelled down to the other two Garpunks on the balcony. "You two, get yer butts up here! We've got a momentous occasion occurring _right now!"_

"What're you on about?" Despite his grumblings, 8 and 4 made their way up the stairs and into the little room.

"What on Earth is going on up here, 3?" asked 4.

3 clapped his hands together. "Just listen. OK kid," he looked back at 6. "Say it again."

The giant 8 looked annoyed. "3, don't tease him. You know he can't-"

"S-source!"

Silence.

"Did…" 4 quavered. "Did he just-?"

"Yeah!"

"I don't believe it," murmured 8, a slow grin tugging at his mouth. He knelt down beside 6 and laid a hand on his striped back. "You really spoke."

"W-well- this is wonderful!" cried 4, beaming away. "We are the witnesses to his first word!"

3 tapped his twin on the shoulder. "Uh, excuse me a sec here, but I do believe _I'm_ the one who got the first AND second word." He jabbed a thumb to his chest for emphasis. "You two got the third."

4 sniffed primly. "I beg your pardon, but this a group occasion. No one got anything."

"Yer just sayin' that cause you're jealous." 3 crossed his arms smugly, blowing a rather loud raspberry at him.

"I am NOT jealous!" 4 protested.

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"How about," 8 interjected before they came to blows. "3 gets the first word, you get the second, and I get the third."

The Twins mulled this over for a moment, then nodded in agreement.

"I think we're just lucky to have heard it at all." The giant ruffled 6's hair, getting a few giggles out of him. "It'd be a shame if you said something, and your friends weren't around to hear."

6 cocked his head up at the huge Garpunk, blinking curiously.

"F-f…" he stuttered hesitantly, "F-f-friends?"

There was such a look of hopeful worry in those disproportional optics that 8 felt his stone heart melt. He gently pulled the little doll into a hug, stroking his hair lovingly.

"Yes, 6," 8 said. "Friends."

"D'aaaaaw," 3 clasped his hands together, a mushy look of affection on his face. "You know what this calls for?"

"What?"

"GROUP HUG!" He pounced on top of 8, nearly crushing the yelling Garpunk in his enthusiasm. 4 eyed his twin dubiously for a second, then shrugged and pounced after him.

6 managed to extricate himself from the tangled mass of limbs and plopped himself down by his drawing, watching with interest as 8 bellowed threats at the Twins, who were giving him double noogies.

The three year old smiled at the sight of the Garpunks, the sight of his friends. Yes…

"Friends."

-----

_5 years..._

6 looked down into the crowds of the city of Paris, seeing the citizens gather in the town square. He was well aware of what day it was - he had been waiting for it to come all year - the Festival of Fools.

"I wish I could go," he said quietly to himself, his fingers drumming on the edge of the parapet as he found himself humming along to the festive music. With a heavy heart, he remembered something that his master had frequently told him:

_"You must never leave the bell-tower."_

6 had heard these words often enough from 1 in the five years that he had lived there, but one question always ran through his mind: _"Why?"_ He never really had the heart to ask 1, afraid of what his reaction would be.

And yet, he still wondered.

"Maybe just for a minute," 6 said quietly, glancing around and listening. 1 had left a while ago, and it didn't seem like he'd be coming back yet. He listened for the clanging footsteps that he knew to be 1's, but heard nothing.

He turned the focus of his hearing sensors to the interior of the bell-tower. It didn't seem like 3, 4, and 8 were around at the moment either. He knew they were around the bell-tower at least, to be there when he needed them. But this was something that 6 felt he wanted to do alone... just this once.

The young Stitchpunk then walked into a small alcove, and glanced over the small area of the bell-tower where he kept all his drawings. A large portion of the area was covered by a growing mural of the city of Paris. Every day 6 would look down from a parapet and observe the city-s going-ons, often finding something new to add to his drawing.

However, his optics then turned to a small pile of drawings that depicted the same thing - the vision of "the Source". 1 seemed to only take to shouting at 6 whenever he brought it up, and the Garpunks admitted that they didn't have any idea of what it was. He gingerly picked up one of his drawings and rolled it up. "Maybe someone out there knows..." 6 whispered quietly. And, being the day of the Festival of Fools, surely someone out there would know what it meant...

As he began to creep toward the stairway, 6 lightly clutched the large black key that he wore around his neck. He had found it once while drawing the Source, and he found that when he held it, the visions seemed to come more clearly to him. 6 considered it a good-luck-charm, in a way.

He tried to make his footsteps as light as he could, so no one would hear him coming down. This might have been a difficult task for 6, due to the fact that he walked with a slight limp, and the key that he wore around his neck rattled constantly. However, for the most part, it was smooth sailing, but occasionally the stairs creaked loudly, causing 6 to stop in his tracks and listen anxiously. As soon as he thought it was safe, he continued down to the bottom of the cathedral.

At last, 6 crept down the steps to a darkened doorway into the main part of Notre Dame, looking around at the families of Stitchpunks who were just exiting the church. His wide optics focused on a family with a father, mother, and two children, who were just about the last to exit the church.

Glancing for a moment at the drawing he held tight in his hand, the five year old stitchpunk began to transcend from the steps to the floor as he called out "Wait! Wait-!"

Suddenly his arm was jerked back, and the young doll was pulled into the shadows once again. He shuddered as the cold hand gripped his own, and turned to glance over as the family, after glancing around in search of the noise, left the church.

"What do you think you were doing, 6?" said the threatening voice of his master, 1, gripping the young Stitchpunk's hand tighter.

"I just... wanted to..." 6 winced in fright as he tried not to look at 1, "... say hello."

1 scowled as he led 6 back up the stairs, forcing him along much faster than 6 had gone on the way down. "You know that you are forbidden to leave the bell-tower! And in any case," he said threateningly, his optics growing more stern the higher they climbed, "what have I told you about socializing with fools like _them_?" The word "them" was said in a tone of utter disdain.

"Not to," 6 trembled, looking down as they reached the part of the bell-tower that he normally resided in.

1 nodded in acknowledgment. "Exactly. They'd see you as a monster out there." Suddenly, his face instantly turned into an icy glare when he saw the small drawing in 6's hand. "What's that you're holding?" The tone in 1's voice was threatening.

"The Source," 6 said automatically without thinking, but froze in horror when he saw 1's face twist into a dark scowl, his optics burning like fire into 6's.

"The Source," 1 hissed, and glanced to see the drawing of 3 symbols etched inside a strange, swirling circle. Without warning, he seized the drawing from 6's trembling hands and tore it up within seconds. "I've had enough with your nonsense!" 1 shouted. "This 'Source' means nothing!"

"But, Master, I-" 6 tried to say.

"It's just a product of your imagination!" 1 exclaimed, "how many times must I tell you to cease these insane practices, these... 'Source' drawings?!" He glared at 6. "Perhaps it comes from you being a monstrosity."

6 blinked for a moment, not seeming to fully understand. Either that or he was too devastated to speak.

3, 4, and 8, who had been worried sick to find 6 gone a few minutes earlier, were relieved to see 6, but horrified when they noticed that 1 was shouting at him.

"Oh, 6, no!" 8 cried out softly, halting the moment he saw 1 scowling at the young Stitchpunk.

"1's here," 4 muttered, "This is _not_ good!"

"I swear, if he does anything to hurt the little guy-" 3 started, but 8 shushed him. They desperately wanted to do something to help, but all they could do was watch.

Grunting in exasperation, 1 began pulling 6 over toward a small, broken beam. It had fallen from the main frame of the bell-tower long ago, and the paint on the wood was beginning to fade. 1's gaze lingered on 6 for a moment before raising his own hand to the beam.

"Watch."

1 ran a finger over the beam, slowly drawing his fingers over the surface, producing hardly a mark on the faded wood. "See? No harm done from me. But you..." Almost at once, he seized 6's right hand and forced the sharp points of the frightened stitchpunk's fingers to dig into the beam. Then he did the same with 6's left hand, forcing the younger doll's fingers to dig into fading wood of the beam. Unlike 1's, 6's fingers left small but deep marks on the beam's surface.

The three Garpunks gasped in horror as they watched, cringing in sympathy for their young friend.

"How could you, 1?!" 8 gasped, looking furious.

"He's only a child!" 4 whispered in shock.

"Let me at 'em! Let me at 'em!" 3 insisted, despite the fact that 4 and 8 firmly held him back. They couldn't blame 3 though - they were feeling just as he felt.

"Don't you see, 6?" 1 snarled, gazing at the trembling Stitchpunk, who was now staring at his own hands, "you could never fit in with the way you are - your mismatched optics, your 'Source' drawings, those deformed, dangerous, monstrous hands of yours..."

6's frightened optics stared at his hands for a moment, flexing his fingers, before gazing fearfully back at 1, seeing his own reflection showing in 1's optics.

"It's why I keep you up here," 1 explained to the astonished five year old, "for the safety of yourself and others. No one can harm you while you are hidden here." His optics lost their sternness, slightly, as he placed his hand under 6's chin, forcing the younger doll to look up. "Do you understand, 6?"

"Yes, Master," 6 said timidly.

"Good," 1 said as he began to walk down the stairs. "Remember 6 - you are safe here."

As 1 turned to go, 6 glanced at the number he could see on 1's back, and a thought suddenly occurred to him. "Master..."

"What?" 1 snapped, stopping in his tracks.

"Why... why do you and the others have numbers and not me?"

1 whirled around and stared sternly at 6 again. "If you weren't such a monster, then you would have a number on you like everyone else, wouldn't you, 6?"

6 was silent, trembling.

"Answer me!"

"Y-Yes Master."

"But you are not like the others," 1 finished as he started down the stairs again with a swirl of his cape, "and _that_ is the reason why." A cruel smirk crossed his face as he looked at 6 again. "Do you know why you have your name, 6?"

After a brief hesitation, 6 shook his head.

"It is because the devil's number is 666," 1 said, gripping one of 6's hands and carefully examining the sharp points, "and you are an unholy demon who is _extraordinarily lucky to be alive_." The way 1 said "alive" made 6 cringe at the full impact of what he was saying. With that, 1 released his grip on 6's hand, and with a cold glare but not another word, the judge walked off down the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the bell-tower.

When 1 was gone, the young stitchpunk wrapped his arms around himself, sadly. Gazing for a moment at the silence of the bell-tower, he walked over to the edge of a parapet, watching the lively festival below him. 6 felt terrible. What if 1 was right? What if he really was a monster, and he could never really be seen by any others? "It looks like so much fun down there..." 6 said quietly. "Why can't I join in too?"

"It'll be okay."

6 looked around, a glimmer of a smile passing across his face. He knew that voice. "8?" 6 knew that if 8 was there, the twins would most likely be with him. "3? 4?"

The three Garpunks stepped out of the shadows, going over to their young friend to comfort him.

"We saw what happened," 8 said quietly, gentle patting 6 on the shoulder. "What 1 did to you... he never should have done that."

"And saying that you were named for the devil's number - " 3 began, before 4 nudged him to avoid making 6 more upset. 3 had been shaken by 1's words, and he knew the others had too - the reasoning for 6's name hit them pretty hard. How could Judge 1 be so cruel to name him for that reason?! "Jeez, poor kid," 3 whispered. After a moment, he regained his composure and gave the young stitchpunk a slight grin. "Don't listen to that guy, okay?"

3, 4, and 8 managed to pull 6 into a group hug.

6 closed his optics for a moment in contentment, until the memory of 1's harsh words and actions caused him to open his optics, pulling away. "You guys don't think I'm a... a... a monster, do you?"

His question was instantly answered by a chorus of remarks.

"6, of course not!" 8 said firmly, but with a comforting smile.

"We would never think that way about you!" 4 said insistently

"Only when you were a baby and screamed so loud you nearly blasted our hearing sensors!" 3 joked.

"3!"

"It's true, 4!"

"The point is," 8 interrupted loudly in an attempt to get the twins to stop arguing, "you're perfect just the way you are, 6."

"And if it were up to us," 4 encouraged, holding 6's hand gently, "nothing would stop you from going to the festival!"

The moment 4 mentioned the festival, 6's optics glanced down into the streets of Paris, staring at those who walked the streets.

"Why can't I have a number too?" 6 murmured sadly. "Everyone down there has numbers, 1 has a number..." he turned directly to his three friends, a desperate look now entering his optics as he looked at their carved numbers. "Even you guys have numbers, and you're Garpunks!"

"EVEN us? I'm insulted!" 3 said with a slight huff in his voice.

6's optics widened in regret, moving his hands in a frantic gesture to show he didn't mean to sound insulting. "I didn't mean it like that 3! It's just..." he trailed off, unsure of what to say at first, before slowly managing to say one more sentence. "It makes me feel like I _am_ a monster."

The three Garpunks looked at 6 sadly. They hated to see their friend so miserable like this, especially on the day of the Festival of Fools. There had to be some way to make 6 feel better.

Suddenly, 3's optics seemed to light up. "I know just the thing!" Before the others could question what was going on, 3 scurried back into the main part of the bell-tower, where a series of crashing noises could be heard until he returned with a small bottle of ink.

"Good thing the priests like to keep supplies stocked up here!" 3 said, grinning as he uncorked the ink bottle, causing some of the liquid to drip onto the floor.

4 and 8 looked at each other, suddenly catching on to what 3 was doing.

"Is 3 gonna-?" 4 whispered to the larger Garpunk

"I think so," 8 nodded. The two Garpunks had a strong hunch as to what 3 had in mind, and they smiled happily. As it turned out, their hunch was right.

3 carefully dipped a finger into the ink bottle, waiting a moment for the ink to stop dripping. Holding his finger steady, he carefully raised it toward 6's back. "Now just hold still 6 - this is gonna be permanent."

"What is-" 6 started to ask, before laughing a little. "3... that tickles!" he managed to say through his laughter. "What a-are you doing?"

"Hold still," 3 repeated, "or you'll end up with a 9 on your back instead of a 6!"

That only made 6 laugh harder.

"Typical, 3," 4 said in exasperation. "You tell 6 to hold still and then you say something that makes him do the opposite!"

"Hey, I'm trying to do the kid a favor here!" 3 snapped at his twin, trying to regain his concentration. "This number needs to be perfect."

It was then that the full impact of what 3 had been saying hit 6 like a brick. "You mean... you're-"

"Giving you a number, of course!" 3 said brightly, finishing up the last stroke of ink on 6's striped back.

"There you go!"

Amazed, 6 craned his neck to look at his back, and blinked his optics in surprise when he saw a large number '6' now on his back. "I have a number..." he whispered, baffled. He turned around several times to stare at it, as if to make sure that it really did exist.

"Pretty good if I do say so myself!" 3 said proudly.

"It does look really nice!" 4 said, beaming.

8 gently stroked the top of 6's yarn-covered head. "You feel better now?"

For a moment 6 didn't say anything. His optics shone with happiness and gratitude as he smiled at his friends.

3 seemed to think the same thing that 6 did, as they both shouted simultaneously "GROUP HUG!" The two of them ran toward 8 and 4 and nearly bowled them over.

"Woah there, you guys!" 8 gently scolded them, laughing and joining in the hug along with 4. "Take it easy!"

"Hey, this is a momentous occasion for the little guy!" 3 insisted, "he deserves a group hug!"

"Don't listen to anything 1 says to you, 6," 4 said gently. "You're not a monster, and no matter what, we'll always be there for you."

6 smiled and looked at his three friends, hope shining in his optics. "Promise?"

"Promise."

**----**

**A/N: *takes deep breath* Whew, done! I know that this chapter was MEGA long, but snowiweather and I hope you enjoyed it! By the way, snowiweather mainly wrote the first two parts, while I mainly wrote the last part! As 4 said to 3 "this is a group occasion!" The next chapter will have more of the actual movie plot, when 6 is older, so stay tuned! (wow, I sound like a TV commerical person!)**


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